Lessons Learned
by WhyAye
Summary: Dr. Hobson's personal crisis means the team must rely on Dr. Cook's pathology report. But he's been wrong before. Innocent pressures for speedy results, & Lewis is torn between following orders and finding the truth of the case.
1. Chapter 1

Detective Sergeant James Hathaway looked up from his computer screen as his boss, Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis, entered their office. "Running a bit late this morning, Sir? Heavy date last night?"

Lewis snorted. "Well, you know me, always with the heavy dates. No, I managed to spill the tea and had to change me shirt and tie. How about you? Have a good weekend?"

"Yeah, I did. The band played a little gig out in Chipping Norton. Nice place, great audience."

"How come you never play 'round here, like?"

"I don't want to be recognized."

"Oh, aye, that's understandable. Wouldn't do to have all those autograph seekers interrupting our police work, would it?"

"Anyway, you're in luck, Sir. We're playing at All Saints this Saturday so you can come out and cheer us on then."

"Great! I will. I mean, it's weird music, but it'll be fun to see you play."

Lewis had powered up his computer and was checking his email. He stopped conversing as he peered closer at an attachment to one of the messages.

"What's this 'Productivity Goals' thing all about, Hathaway? Did you read this?"

"Of course I did. I read it over an hour ago, when I first got here, Sir. We now have a goal of closing cases ten percent faster than our past rate."

"Oh, bother! As if we can just step up the pace, think a little faster. At least you and I have a rate that's above average, so we don't have to do anything different, right?"

"Ahh . . . didn't you read Goal 8.3, 'Expectations of individual team units'?"

"I can only read English and a little German, so, no."

Hathaway read from the document. "'Each team unit averaging a closure rate at or above the fiftieth percentile will be expected to outperform by at least ten percent the closure rate achieved by that individual team unit in the previous fiscal year. Each team unit averaging a closure rate below the fiftieth percentile will be expected to perform at least ten percent better than the fiftieth percentile average closure rate of the previous fiscal year.'"

Lewis was utterly blank. "I have no idea what that means. And since when are we a 'team unit'? Can't we just be a 'team'?" He shook his head despairingly. "Hathaway, the short version. What does it mean for _us_?"

"It means you and I have to work ten percent faster than we did last year."

"Even though we already work fifty percent faster than everyone else?"

"Fifty-three, in fact, but yes."

"And what happens if we just keep plodding along at our current pace?"

"This doesn't really say. Vague threats about reorganization, reassignment, that sort of thing."

"Which will never happen to _us_, right? Forget the whole thing. It doesn't apply."

An unexpected voice came from the doorway. "It does apply, Inspector Lewis, and I will personally be checking your and Hathaway's rate to ensure you're improving just as much as everyone else." Both men wheeled around from their computers to face Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent.

She continued. "Not only do you two have to improve your rate by at least the requisite ten percent, I will be looking for your team to improve even more than that. I know you have the capability—you're almost never here evenings or weekends."

"We're not paid to work evenings and weekends, Ma'am." Lewis was getting indignant.

"You're paid to do your _job_, Inspector Lewis. Besides, it's not like either of you has a demanding home life to which you need attend."

"What's that got to do with it? It's not fair. We're getting punished for being efficient."

"Oh, stop whingeing, Lewis. It's not as if these Performance Goals are my personal idea." She swirled out of the office, leaving the two disgruntled men to stare after her.

"Well, I guess we better get busy and solve something, eh, Hathaway? How about I go kill whoever put these Performance Goals together and we can get started on solving that murder?"

"Conflict of interest, Sir. Someone else would get the case."

"Sometimes I really can't stand working here, y'know?"

Just then, the phone rang on Lewis's desk. "Yeah, Inspector Lewis . . . yeah, where? Okay, we're on our way." He hung up. "We're back in business, Hathaway. Looks like we've got a double this time, out in Wytham Woods. Forester heard a couple of shots that came from an area closed to hunting. Checked it out and found some bodies for us."

"How thoughtful."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they arrived at Wytham Woods, Dr. Laura Hobson was already removing the white coverall she wore when closely investigating the crime scene. She handed the two men bags of folded blue coveralls as she explained.

"Two victims, one male, one female. Both were shot, probably both with the handgun we recovered." She paused, blanching a little. "Sorry, I'm not feeling great today. Why don't you go ahead and take a look for yourselves?" She leaned against the car.

Lewis and Hathaway suited up and walked around the scene. Lewis never cared much for Wytham Woods. Bad memories of the place. The male victim was young, college age. The female was somewhat older, maybe by five years.

"Murder-suicide, you think, Sir?"

"Unless a third person shot both of them. Or unless they each shot themselves. Suicide pact thing." Lewis turned to one of the SOCOs. "Any ID?"

The officer held up two plastic bags, one containing a man's wallet, the other a pack of plastic cards. "This was in a handbag," she said of the latter.

Hathaway took the bags and began looking closely at the contents.

Lewis turned to find Dr. Hobson. He needed more details.

He noticed she was still by the car, moving around it, one hand on her stomach. As she reached the far side of Lewis's car, he saw her bending over some, as if in pain. Concerned, he approached, joining her behind the car.

"Doctor? You alright?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine. It's nothing." But she abruptly gasped and winced visibly, and held her abdomen with both hands.

He put his arm around her. "It doesn't look like 'nothing.' Here." He opened the rear door of the car and guided her toward it. "Sit down."

As Laura moved toward the open door, Lewis could see there was a dark crimson stain on her jeans between her legs, spreading as he stared. He knew enough about female matters to be alarmed.

"This cramping, all that bleeding . . . that's not normal for you, is it?"

She shook her head as she sat, clutching herself tightly.

He considered a moment, then bent down and whispered intensely.

"Doctor, are you . . . _pregnant_?"

She stared at him, then nodded slightly, and though she clenched her eyes tightly shut, tears began to squeeze from them.

"Oh, Laura."

She reached out and hugged him around the middle for all she was worth, burying her sobs in his belly. He gently stroked her hair.

"You've got to get to Emergency. James can drive you." Before he could look around to see where Hathaway had gone, she gripped his arm tightly.

"_No!_ I . . . I want you to drive, Robbie. Not James."

"I can't leave Hathaway in charge of a double murder. He's just a sergeant."

"_Please._" Such a tiny voice.

"Well, okay, but I at least have to tell him I'm leaving. Is that alright?"

She nodded again.

He jogged over toward Hathaway. "Hey, Sergeant, Doctor Hobson's not feeling well all of the sudden, so I'm just going to take her . . . " He left the sentence unfinished and hurried back to the car.

He passed some tissues back to her as he threw the car into gear and sped away. When they got out of sight of the crime scene, he put on the flashing light. He waited on the siren until they got closer to the City. It might be better for everyone if it was not widely known that this was an emergency.

Lewis drove in silence. He knew so much bleeding was not a good sign, and he couldn't think of anything to say that would be both true and reassuring.

After a while, Laura controlled her sobbing. "Robbie, I want you to stay with me, whatever they do. I don't want to be by myself."

"Whatever you want, Laura. I'll be there."

He was good to his word. The medical staff let him stay and hold her hand while they worked. She was thirteen weeks along, he learned when they took her history.

"And is this Mister Hobson?"

Lewis smiled a little, but Laura remained serious. "No, he's a friend. There is no Mister Hobson."

"Is he, ahh, . . . the father?"

"_He's just a friend_."

For most of what went on, Lewis kept his eyes focused on Laura's face or a neutral point in the room, trying to respect her privacy as much as possible. Despite the technical jargon being used, he understood the extent of what had happened, and when she was in recovery, he hugged her while she cried.

"I am so sorry, Laura." Very little else was said.

After a couple of hours, she was able to go home. Again, Lewis drove in silence. When he brought the car to a stop, he was not at her place, but at his.

"I'm just going to run in and get some things. I don't want to leave you alone tonight." It was a statement, but he meant it as a question. She nodded in response. _Okay_.

When they got to her house, Lewis fixed them both a light supper. "C'mon, you need to keep up your strength."

He made sure she did more than just poke at her food. When they were nearly done, Lewis's mobile rang. He peered at the screen.

"It's Hathaway."

"Don't answer it, Robbie, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you want." He paused. "But it would help if I understood why."

She stared at her plate.

Lewis took the gamble. "James is the father, isn't he?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

He put his hand on her arm. "He has a right to know the baby's lost. He'll figure it out soon enough."

"He . . . he doesn't know about the baby. I haven't told him yet. Now I guess I don't have to tell him at all."

"You never told him!"

She took in Lewis's astonished expression. "I thought there might be something wrong with it. Just a feeling. My age, y'know." She fiddled with her fork. "Even if there wasn't, I thought I might not keep it. Might not carry it to term." She glanced up to see if he understood.

His grave look was her answer. "James wouldn't think much of that choice, I suppose."

"That's what I thought. I wanted it to be my decision, either way."

Lewis picked up the plates and silverware and put them in the sink.

"He's going to ask me what happened, y'know. You should be the one to tell him."

She started to cry again. "I know I should, but I _can't_. I feel like this is my fault and I'm too afraid he'll be angry. It's too much for him to take in at once."

Lewis brought her some coffee. "What do you want me to tell him tomorrow? I can tell him all of it, if that's what you want, Laura."

"Would you? You're a godsend, Robbie. I'd much rather see him after he has had some time to think about it." The relief was clear on her face.

"So . . . if you don't mind me asking . . . ummm . . . how'd this happen? You two get careless, or . . . I mean, I thought James would be sure to use . . . y'know."

She found his awkwardness endearing. "James _always_ uses 'y'know.' But we got to fooling around afterward once when we'd both had a bit too much to drink, and I guess we pushed our luck too far. He's the only one it could be." She answered his unspoken question.

At her request, Lewis ignored two more calls from James that night. And it was also at her request that he slept not on the sofa but next to her, in her bed. She clung to him all night as if he were saving her from drowning.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

He came into the office quietly, trying not to draw attention to his presence. Still, it would have been surprising had Hathaway not noticed him come in, seeing as how he was staring at Lewis's desk at the time.

"Sergeant, I'm sorry I didn't take your calls last night. I stayed with Hobson, she needed someone with her."

Hathaway exhaled explosively, shaking his head in frustration. "Sir, I had no idea what happened. It sounded like you were just going to take her home. But then you didn't come back and I couldn't get hold of you at all. Is she okay? Were you in hospital half the night, or what?!"

Lewis came over and sat on Hathaway's desk. "She'll be okay, she just needs some rest."

"I stayed out at the woods until I figured you weren't coming back. I didn't know what was going on, Sir. I took Hobson's car since she'd left it there, did some investigation back here, but by the time I gave up waiting for you to return my calls it was too late to go out."

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking about the case at all. Did you learn anything?"

"The dead woman is Annie Jerrold, wife of chemistry don Albert Jerrold. Professor Jerrold is the tutor of the young man, Mark Ferry. I wasn't up to informing Jerrold or anyone else about the deaths last night, so the man is probably beside himself. I know I should have gone and told him but I was in a pretty foul mood by then, Sir."

Lewis was appropriately chastened. "Hathaway, I'm really sorry. Laura needed me to be there for her, and she asked me not to take your calls." Hathaway cocked his head, puzzled by this news. Lewis lowered his voice. "James, she asked me to wait til this morning to tell you this." He waited long enough to ensure Hathaway appreciated the gravity of his tone.

"Laura was thirteen weeks pregnant. She miscarried yesterday." He paused before delivering the rest of the news, and James cut in.

"_Pregnant?_ Whoa. She must have gotten careless with someone, I suppose. I can't imagine her intending to become a mother."

"Yeah, careless, that's what she said. But not just 'someone,' Hathaway. She said the father . . . James, she said it's you. She was carrying your baby. I'm sorry."

Hathaway's jaw fell open. "_What?!_ Couldn't be. I mean, I always . . . I'm always careful." Lewis could see he was doing the math in his head. "Well, that one time . . . Thirteen weeks?" A seriousness flickered over his face. "But, she'd have said something by now. Wouldn't she? _Why wouldn't she?_"

"I dunno. She said she had a feeling maybe there was something wrong from the start. Or maybe telling you would have forced her to accept that it was real, and she wasn't able to face that yet."

He put a hand on Hathaway's shoulder. "I'm really sorry, man."

Hathaway shrugged him off and stared at his desk, twiddling a pen.

"I need a smoke." He got up abruptly and left the office.

Lewis gave him a little lead time, then followed out to where Hathaway usually smoked. He stood next to James for a moment in silence.

"Here, give us one of those, would you?"

"What, a cigarette? Since when do _you_ smoke?"

"I used to, a long time ago. I could use one now." Lewis looked inquiringly, glancing down at the packet in James's hand.

Hathaway shook one out and handed it over, and held the flame for the older man. Lewis lit it with the economy of one familiar with the process, and took a long drag. He held the smoke in his mouth a while, tasting it, then finally exhaled.

"Still tastes good."

They stood together in silence for some time.

"Hathaway, it's okay to be angry and grieving at the same time."

The younger man turned on him. "Look, don't be all 'I know exactly what you're going through,' okay? This is nothing like losing your wife. You don't know anything about my grief!"

"You're right, I don't. Every grief is different."

Hathaway stared at the ground. He sighed. "I'm sorry for lashing out. You're not the one I'm angry at."

"It's fine, James. Vent your anger on me, I really don't mind. Just don't . . . Don't hurt Laura, okay? She has enough pain."

Hathaway exhaled loudly. "I feel like when you spin yourself around and around and get horribly dizzy and then try to walk in a straight line. I think I'm headed one direction, but find I'm being jerked somewhere else completely. Nothing is holding still. I can't tell which way I'm going and I can't find anything to hang on to."

"You can hang on to me, my friend. I've been down this road."

"This was a _baby_, not a person who had decades of living a full life. I don't even know if it was a boy or a girl. It's not at all the same as the death of an adult."

Lewis smoked quietly a while. "Val lost our first, y'know. At sixteen weeks. Almost destroyed our marriage. Well, we were so young, hadn't even been married a year. Scared us off so bad we waited nearly ten years before trying again."

Hathaway stared. "The extensive catalogue of your personal tragedies makes it rather frightening to associate with you, you know?" He pitched away the rest of his cigarette. "I need some time by myself, okay? I'm going to the Oratory."

Lewis looked blank.

"St. Aloysius." Still blank. "_Church?_"

"Ohhh, aye. Take as much time as you need, Hathaway. I mean it."

After James left, Lewis finished his cigarette and headed back to their office. Innocent caught him in the corridor. She sniffed in his direction. "Where have _you_ been?"

"Taking a smoke break."

She looked at him sideways. "Now is not a good time to be picking up time-consuming habits, Inspector. It's not going to help your productivity. Hathaway is where?"

"Um, he's, uh . . . taking some personal time."

"Personal time? Is something wrong?"

"It's, y'know . . . _personal_."

"And you were where, yesterday afternoon?

"Taking some personal time, Ma'am."

She set her mouth in a line. "You two haven't had an argument."

"No, Ma'am, it has nothing to do with me."

"With all this personal time being taken, are we making any progress on this case? Hobson's report come in yet?"

"Uh, no, not yet. She wasn't feeling well yesterday, might be off sick today."

"Well, get going on this, Hathaway or no Hathaway. Have Doctor Cook do the report if Hobson's not in. I want to see something happening here, Lewis."

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Hathaway stepped into the quiet sanctuary, dipping his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself. He was a good half hour early for morning mass, giving him plenty of time to sort out his thoughts before he would have to enter the confessional. He shivered a little in dreaded anticipation of that moment. He had never had very much to confess, but this time he could not hide from himself or from his God the extent of his sin.

He genuflected and folded his lanky frame onto a kneeler in a row near the back of the sanctuary. Reasoned thought would not come; he needed the touchstone of rote prayer. He pulled a thin rope of beads from his pocket and began mouthing the Rosary. _Tuesday, the day to pray the Sorrowful Mysteries. How appropriate_.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

It turned out Doctor Cook had been assigned to work on the case as soon as Laura called in to say she would not be at work that day. He answered Lewis's call with an impatient and imperious tone that the inspector found grating. Early in the afternoon, a courier delivered the report. Cook did not care for the face-to-face approach that Doctor Hobson used.

According to his report, it was a murder-suicide. They had both been fatally shot in the head with the small-caliber handgun found at the site. The student, identified by Hathaway as Mark Ferry, first shot the woman—Annie Jerrold—and then himself. There was powder residue on Ferry's hand and powder burns on her head. The report also noted that Annie Jerrold had been approximately sixteen weeks pregnant.

Lewis swallowed the lump in his throat. Probably just as well Doctor Cook had taken over the autopsies.

* * *

With the report in, the visit to see Professor Jerrold had to be made. Normally, Lewis would have waited and gone with Hathaway, but with Innocent pressuring him, he didn't dare put it off any longer. He had told James to take as much time as he needed, and he could not very well go ringing him up after promising to let him be. And it wouldn't be difficult or dangerous to interview an Oxford don.

He found Jerrold in his chambers at college. He was younger than Lewis would have thought for a don. About Hathaway's age. _Great. He's probably a bloody genius._ Lewis flashed his badge and gave his name.

Noting the blank look on Jerrold's face, Lewis knew the hardest part of his job was about to happen once more.

"Professor Jerrold, I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Sir. About your wife, Annie. You'd better sit down."

"Annie? What's wrong with Annie?"

"I'm afraid she's dead. She was shot, apparently by Mark Ferry, one of your students, I believe?"

"Mark! Annie! Oh, God, no!"

"Mister Ferry then apparently shot himself, he's also dead." Lewis assessed the man's reaction, gauging him for credibility and stability. "They were found in Wytham Woods yesterday morning. I'm afraid it took us this long to verify the identities." Not true, but better than saying they were lax in getting started on the case. "Any idea why they'd be out there together?"

"Well, she liked to go for walks in the woods there. But I wouldn't think she'd gone to meet Mark. He frightened her."

"Didn't you worry last night when she didn't come home?"

"We have separate bedrooms, Inspector. I tend to work late, and last night I was later than usual. I thought she must already be in bed and didn't disturb her. This morning, I assumed she had gone out before I got up, that would not be unusual."

"Did you know she was pregnant?"

Jerrold was clearly unsurprised. "Yes, of course I knew. We planned it together, but not in the conventional way, Inspector. You see, I had a vasectomy last June at the insistence of my first wife. But very soon after, she died in a car accident."

Lewis flinched. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Professor."

"It wasn't the happiest marriage. And only a few months later, I met Annie. We fell madly and instantly in love, the storybook 'Love at First Sight,' you know?"

"That must have been frustrating. You must have just been cleared after the vasectomy."

"Well, yes, as I recall, the doctor said it would take two to three months, and I married Annie four months after the surgery, in October. I greatly regretted my decision at that point because she very much wanted to have children."

"But she became pregnant anyway. How did that happen?"

Jerrold seemed to be sizing Lewis up to see if he could be trusted with more intimate details.

"Don't you policemen travel in pairs? Is there some reason for this singular visit?"

_Yep, he's smarter than average. Checking me out before revealing something personal._ "My partner, Sergeant Hathaway, is unavailable this afternoon. But a murder case needs to get resolved as quickly as possible. Don't you agree?"

Jerrold seemed satisfied with that answer. "In answer to your question, Inspector, we decided to engage one of my students to serve as a surrogate father. We chose Mark Ferry, whom we both liked at the time." He noticed Lewis's surprise. "I know it's unorthodox, and asking for trouble. Which is what we got. He started getting possessive. Stalking her, threatening me. That kind of thing. He must have been even more unstable than we supposed." He looked sad. "_Annie._ Poor Annie." He began to cry.

Lewis, sympathetic, handed him a tissue. "Just a few more questions, Sir. Where were you yesterday morning?"

He blew his nose loudly. "I was here at college. I arrived just at nine. I remember hearing the chimes."

"Anyone see you, either here or at home?"

Jerrold shrugged. "The porter did. I didn't notice anyone else. I wasn't really paying attention, thinking about what I need to prepare for the day."

"Do you own a gun, Professor?"

"A _gun?_ Me? I wouldn't touch one!"

From there, Lewis verified Jerrold's story with the porter and interviewed students on the same hall as Ferry. None of them could believe Ferry had killed himself, or his tutor's beautiful wife.

"He adored her, but not in a scary, stalker-ish way. He used to write pretend love letters to her, that he would then tear up instead of sending them. They had poetry and everything. Really sweet. Mark would never have hurt her. And he didn't own a gun, he didn't like them." Ferry's best friend, Josh Sweetman, was sad and confused. "I can't believe Professor Jerrold asked Mark to be a surrogate father. He didn't even seem to like Mark very much, always gave him a hard time about his lab skills."

"Any chance Ferry was having an affair with Annie Jerrold?"

"No way. He'd have reported anything like that to me, I'm sure. We told each other everything like that, even some of it that wasn't quite true. He was too much in awe to even speak to her."

As Lewis walked back to the station, he rolled the interview with Jerrold over in his head. Something nagged at him, but he couldn't put a finger on it. He stopped by forensics and dropped off the tissue used by Albert Jerrold and then surreptitiously palmed by Lewis. "I want DNA on this."

"Yes, Sir."

When he returned to the office, he added as much information as he could to the photographs of the victims and the crime scene, the scrawled notes, and ballistics report posted on the white board in the investigation room. The Chief Superintendent came in while he wrote, reading over his shoulder.

He added the pathologist's finding that this was murder and suicide, both at the hand of the now-dead Ferry.

"Well, that's that then, right? All done, in just over twenty-four hours, and without your trusty sergeant. Good work, Lewis!" Innocent sounded thrilled that the double case was closed so quickly.

"Ma'am, I know it looks done, but there's something here that doesn't smell right. I don't trust Doctor Cook's report, I can't even find where he noted time of death."

She turned to him, sternly. "Lewis, why do you always let your personal feelings complicate things? Just because you don't like Doctor Cook doesn't mean he's wrong. You have no evidence that there's anything incorrect with his conclusions. And the report matches what Professor Jerrold said about Ferry. Let it go, Inspector." She was getting angry now. "That's an order." Innocent assessed his attitude. "An _order_, Lewis. One for which you will be disciplined if you disregard." She stalked out of the room.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Lewis stared at the board, willing the missing piece to appear. He was startled from his reverie by a sharp, nasal inhale.

"Hathaway! I didn't hear you come in. What do you make of this?"

James was studying the pathology report. "She was pregnant. DNA on the baby?"

"Not in yet. Ferry's pal doesn't think it could be him, but it can't be Jerrold, he's had his tubes tied. So who was it?"

"Well, it wasn't me."

Lewis had to look to see that Hathaway bore an ironic smile.

"Doesn't Jerrold seem a bit young for a vasectomy, Sir? Is that a hundred percent, or does it sometimes not work? You're the resident expert on that procedure, right?"

Lewis ignored the gibe. "It sometimes has to be done over, but that's pretty rare. Once you're what they call "clear," the odds get really small."

"'Clear,' Sir?"

"Sterile. Clear. Same thing. Shooting blanks, in the vulgar. It can take months after the surgery, sometimes even six months. But even if it's just a couple months, it seems like forever, believe me."

Suddenly, a light went on. "Hathaway, you're brilliant! What if he wasn't clear? I asked him about it, 'cos it would have been right around the time he met his new wife. But he was really vague about it. Said the doctor told him two to three months, and it had only been four when he married her."

"So?"

"So, he had just met this woman he fell head-over-heels for. He'd know that minute if he'd been cleared yet or not. It's not something you forget, the moment they tell you that your reproductive days are over for good. He probably hadn't bothered to go back and be checked. Not everyone does."

Hathaway calculated in his head. "If she was sixteen weeks along, conception would have been sometime in November, maybe?"

"He gets his wife pregnant, thinks it can't be him, and decides she must be having an affair. For whatever reason, he concludes it's Ferry and he kills them both. Or, all three of them, if you include the baby. Classic jealous husband, lover's triangle."

"Does it really matter who the father is? Doesn't the pathology report say Ferry killed them both?"

"I don't trust Cook's competence. As far as I'm concerned, his report is worth less than nothing. It misleads us into thinking the case is closed. Which it's obviously not."

Lewis considered further. "If Ferry's not the father, that blows a big hole in Jerrold's story. And if Jerrold is really the father, well, I think he has a right to know that, don't you?"

Hathaway didn't answer.

"Get on the phone, get Cook to put a rush on that DNA report on the baby, we should have had it by now."

Hathaway called the pathologist and learned no report had been ordered. "Sergeant, it's not my place to decide what evidence you think you'll need. I'll get it started but it'll be a day or two. You should have ordered it yesterday with everything else."

Lewis butted in. "Ask him about time of death, it's not in the report."

Hathaway relayed the message and got another dressing down.

"It's not in my report because I didn't take that information. Doctor Hobson was on the scene. She's the one who took the temperatures. She hasn't shared that with me, so I couldn't include it."

"Thanks for your help, Doctor Cook. We're looking forward to that DNA report." Hathaway struggled to keep the cynicism out of his voice.

He turned to Lewis. "DNA was not specifically ordered yesterday so we'll have to wait. And Hobson has the time of death information because she was at the scene."

Lewis exhaled. "How could we have ordered it yesterday when we didn't find out until today that she was pregnant? Idiot. I didn't want to bother Laura with work but we might have to. And we really should try to keep it from her that the dead woman had been pregnant. Something like that might be far too upsetting in her current state." This reminded Lewis that Hobson wasn't the only one upset by recent events.

"Look, Hathaway . . ." he trailed off. "I could use another cigarette."

"This is getting to be a habit with you, Sir."

They were outside, leaning against the wall to stay out of the light rain that had begun to fall. Lewis looked sideways at his sergeant. "Where are you at, James? You okay?"

The younger man looked away. "Not completely. I keep imagining the worst reasons why she didn't tell me. Why she didn't want me to know. That she hoped I'd never know."

Lewis sighed. "There may be something to that, but my sense was that she hadn't decided anything for sure. And now there's no way to know what she would have done." He took a long draw. "It would help if you could show her you're concerned about her. That you're not angry with her. She didn't do anything wrong, James." Then he added, "Neither did you, for that matter. It's just something that happened."

Hathaway took a couple more puffs. "I wasn't with her thirteen weeks ago, you know. Are you sure it's not _you_?"

"You know it's not me, man. I haven't been with her at all. And I know I'm clear. I still get my—y'know—checked every year. Lord knows why." The last was more to himself than to Hathaway. "Anyway, when they say thirteen weeks, you subtract two for when conception occurred, and it could be plus or minus a week or so from that."

Hathaway got very quiet. "Oh."

Lewis watched James with raised eyebrows, but he said nothing more. As they stubbed out their cigarettes, Lewis added, "By the way, Innocent has officially declared this case closed. So anything we do is on our time until we can crack it open."

"She's going to pitch a fit when she finds I ordered that DNA test, then."

"You didn't know. I didn't have a chance to tell you before it was too late." He grinned.

They managed to avoid Innocent the rest of the day. As they were packing up at five, Lewis turned to the younger man. "C'mon, why don't you come back to Laura's with me? Give her a hug?"

Reluctantly, Hathaway agreed. He would rather have seen her alone, but Lewis wouldn't allow it. The older man was probably right not to totally trust him to maintain control over his emotions. Despite the soul soothing he had experienced at mass, Hathaway had felt frequent bursts of anger all afternoon, even without being face-to-face with Laura. He wasn't certain at all how he would react in her presence. Yes, it was probably for the best to have a mediator close by.

Lewis was working the case over as he drove. "How did they get to Wytham, Hathaway? There weren't any cars there. And you know another weird thing? Jerrold claimed he and Annie were totally smitten with each other. But he told me they had separate bedrooms. How many married couples have separate bedrooms these days, especially when they've only been married a short time and are still madly in love?"

"So which one is the lie, the separate bedrooms or being totally smitten?"

"An excellent question. Wish I'd thought to ask to see her room. I'm much better at interviews when you're with me, Hathaway."

"Sorry, Sir. I was conducting my own question-and-answer session."

"Did it help, going to church?"

"Yeah, I think it did. At least I'm not angry with God any more."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

They arrived at Hobson's house and Lewis rang the bell. When Laura opened the door and saw Hathaway, she became very serious. "Hello, James."

They entered, and Hathaway held her shoulders a moment before embracing her in a full-body hug. "Laura, I'm so sorry."

At first, she stood stiffly. He buried his face in her hair, whispering, "It'll be okay, you're going to be okay." She let herself relax then, and hugged him back. Lewis discreetly went to get a beer and start putting a meal together in the kitchen.

"James, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I couldn't believe it for a long time, and then when I did, I was too scared to tell you. I thought you'd blame me for being careless. I thought you'd be angry. And then I started getting cramps every once in a while, and I was afraid something was wrong. I should have trusted you. If I had told you earlier, you could have been the one with me in hospital. It should have been you." Her eyes were wet but she resisted actual tears.

Hathaway gently brushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face. "Maybe it's all for the best. I'm not very keen on the idea of becoming a parent without having a choice in the matter."

If he was trying to get her to admit to having decided anything without him, he failed. She studied him warily. "I'm not so keen on the idea of _not_ being a parent without having any choice, either."

She looked away. "James, I appreciate that this has been hard on you. But right now, I have a lot of thinking to do. I'd rather we stop . . . being intimate for a while. Obviously, I've been too careless. I think I need to grow up and be more serious at this point in my life."

Hathaway took the hint. He was being turned away, no matter how gently she did it. _You mean you intend to give your attentions to someone more mature, less likely to cause a crisis in your life. Someone less likely to get you pregnant._

"If that's what you want, Laura. I understand what you're saying."

* * *

Lewis had put away half his beer and gotten everything chopped for a stir-fry by the time the other two joined him in the kitchen. It was clear to him their mood was serious. He shifted gears.

"Do y'think you'll be back to work soon, Laura?"

She nodded. "I'll be in tomorrow. No reason not to be, and I went stir crazy here all day today." She hadn't given much thought to the lab, though, and it dawned on her for the first time that the case must have been proceeding without her.

"What's happening with the double murder?"

"Murder-suicide, according to Doctor Cook. Innocent has declared it 'case closed.'"

"_What?_" The incomprehension was clear in her face. "Murder-suicide? Impossible. There was no powder residue on the woman's hands."

Lewis and Hathaway exchanged glances. "Doctor Cook said the lad did the shooting. There _was_ residue on _his_ hands."

She stared at Lewis. "That's ridiculous. Young Mister—" She waited, eyebrows raised, for him to fill in the blank.

"Ferry."

"Mister Ferry obviously died first. Maybe an hour, certainly half an hour before she did. The body temperatures were that much different."

"Well, uh, we didn't have that information. Doctor Cook said he didn't have it."

"Then he shouldn't have released the report. Besides, there were no powder burns on Ferry's head. No way could he have held that gun far enough away to shoot himself without leaving at least a trace."

She closed her eyes, trying to picture the scene that day. "And that angle. Not an angle for a suicide bullet. How many empty chambers?"

"Three. But one could have been empty already. The forester said he heard two shots."

"I think one _was_ already empty. Go back and look at the photos of Ferry. He was shot somewhere else and moved to the woods. The woman was either expected or lured there and the killer set the gun in Ferry's hand to take the shot at her, an hour or so later. Then he shot again to make it sound like the two fatal shots were fired there."

Lewis and Hathaway stared at her first, then at each other.

The younger man spoke excitedly. "Double murder, just as you said, Sir. We have to get that DNA result."

Lewis looked at him reproachfully. Hobson focused on him, puzzled. Hathaway wished for all the world that he could hit the "undo" button and take back his last comment.

"What DNA result is that, James?"

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Laura did not react well to Hathaway's answer. She seemed to close up, and she turned very cold toward James. The fact that she would have learned the information the next day at the lab did not seem to make a difference.

"I think you'd better go, James."

He started to say something, but thought better of it.

Lewis turned to go with him. "Goodnight, Laura."

"Ohh, Robbie . . . "

Both men looked around.

"Don't leave me alone." There was a hint of terror in her voice.

"No, of course not."

Hathaway wheeled and strode from the house. Lewis sprinted after him, catching up when Hathaway reached the car. He stood there in the rain and apologized profusely, even though it was Hathaway's blunder that created the situation. James said nothing, driving away in an undercurrent of anger. Lewis had the distinct impression that somehow the younger man viewed this as a "Lewis victory." _Jealousy?_ He also had the distinct impression that the relationship between James and Laura had undergone a significant shift, and not for the better.

He fixed tea for her, and rubbed the tension from her shoulders as she sipped. "You're not being fair to him, you know. He hurts, too. And he's as concerned about you as I am."

"Seeing him reminds me of how foolish I was. He . . . he can make me forget myself too easily. I can't let that happen again."

"D'you think _he's_ going to let that happen again? He had as close a call as you did. Closer, in fact, because you refused to allow him any say in the matter." He was serious now. "I know you care for him. He didn't do anything wrong. Why are you punishing him?" He could see her soften around the edges. "Don't let this drive you apart. It can strengthen you as friends, even if you're done being lovers."

He pulled her in close. "He would never hurt you intentionally, y'know. Promise me that you're going to let yourself trust him again."

Laura slowly nodded her assent.

She nested in his arms again that night, her head on his chest. Lewis slept not at all.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

As usual, Hathaway was first in the office. When Lewis came in, he tossed a packet of cigarettes across the room. Hathaway caught it, one-handed.

"I'm paying you back for what I've already cadged, and paying ahead for whatever I smoke until we get through this."

"It's not a healthy habit, you know, Sir."

"One or two a day isn't going to kill me any faster. Anyway, we're on the downhill slope by now, aren't we?"

"Well, it certainly seemed that things went downhill quickly enough last night." Hathaway was sour.

"That's not what I meant. You've got no reason to be angry with me, I'm just trying to keep us all together."

"You're certainly succeeding in keeping you and _her_ together."

Lewis paced. "Hathaway, you know it's not like that. She's on a roller coaster right now. She sees me as safe, that's all."

Hathaway snorted. "As in 'safe sex,' you mean?"

"For God's sake, man, no! 'Safe' like a harbor. Like an anchor. 'Safe' like being able to sleep next to someone she knows isn't even _thinking_ of sex. That's the last thing she's interested in right now."

Hathaway made no reply, chewing the insides of his cheeks.

Lewis changed course. "As soon as Hobson gets the supplemental pathology report in, let's go ask Jerrold some more questions. That gun ever turn up as registered?"

"I haven't heard. I'll follow up on that." They both made an effort to return things to normal.

But shortly after, Chief Superintendent Innocent appeared in their doorway.

"Let's test your skills of detection, Inspector Lewis. What am I looking for?"

He stared at his computer a minute before answering. "Our report on the double murder."

"Your report on the _murder-suicide_, Lewis. Why is it taking so long when the case was closed early yesterday afternoon? You're not working on some other theory, are you?"

As tempting as it was to offer some form of white lie, Lewis declined to do so.

"Yes, Ma'am, I am. In direct contravention of your order. My duty as a police officer requires it." He stood a bit taller, clearly challenging her.

It was not a wise move. She stepped closer and spoke with her face no more than an inch from his. She spoke so low, if there had been any other sound in the room, Hathaway would not have been able to hear her.

"Inspector Lewis, I will not tolerate this blatant disregard of my order. When you are given an order, you will carry it out. If you disagree, you may request that I reconsider, and support your request with evidence of why the order is incorrect. But you are not free to act as you choose. This is not the first time you have disobeyed in this way. But it better be the last. Your suspension begins _now_, Lewis. You are relieved of duty until tomorrow."

Hathaway noticed Lewis flexing his fingers as if he were considering either throwing a punch or flashing a two-fingered salute. But he did neither. Lewis shot Hathaway a look—_Call me_—and stormed out of the office. "_Sod this_." Under his breath.

Innocent turned her attention to Hathaway. She was no longer glowering, and seemed suddenly mild-mannered, almost pleasant. "What is it that makes Inspector Lewis think there is something left here to be resolved?"

Hathaway felt his way cautiously. _Learn from the boss's mistake_. "The thing is, Ma'am, we've received conflicting reports from pathology. Well, we don't have Hobson's actual report yet, but she indicated that Doctor Cook was premature in issuing his report without getting the crime scene data from her. It turns out it's impossible for Ferry to have killed Annie Jerrold because he died a half hour to an hour _before_ she did. And the angle was wrong for the shot that killed him to be self-inflicted."

She shook her head sadly. "Why didn't Lewis just say so? You see, Sergeant, his error was not in disagreeing with my order, but in simply disregarding it when he disagreed. I cannot have my officers unilaterally deciding which orders they will follow. I suppose all those years with Chief Inspector Morse were not to Lewis's benefit."

She brightened. "Well, do you think Hobson's information is correct? She's not just cooking this up as a _quid pro quo_ for Lewis, is she?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Have you ever noticed, Hathaway, that my office commands a fine view of the car park? And so I saw that Inspector Lewis and Doctor Hobson arrived together this morning, in the same car. And I believe he is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. What conclusion would you draw from these observations?"

Hathaway managed to look surprised at the information, and said nothing.

"And I've heard rumors—just rumors, mind you—that our pathologist might be, shall we say, 'in the family way.' Have you heard anything of that?"

"Yes I have, and I know it's not true. And anyway, Hobson would _never_ compromise a report, no matter what."

"Well, you are a good friend to both of them. If you're convinced there's nothing of that nature between them . . . "

"I'd know if there was. Much more likely he's just helping her out. She hasn't been well. That's why we had to rely on this flawed report of Doctor Cook's in the first place."

He successfully diverted her attention. "Yes, that's the second substantively erroneous report from him, isn't it? I will do something about that. And Hathaway, I'm sorry you're without your partner for the day, but don't let that slow you down on the case."

* * *

As soon as she left, Hathaway phoned Lewis.

He was still hot. "Can you believe that, Hathaway? Why do I bother trying to find the truth in these cases when all she wants is speed? How is it going to help us get this done if I'm stuck at home with me heels up? It's stupid."

"With all due respect, Sir, I'd have to say what _you_ did was stupid."

"_What?_"

"You _know_ it doesn't work to challenge her. If you'd used your 'groveling sycophant' voice, you'd still be here. She was perfectly willing to let the investigation go ahead as we planned once I explained Hobson's findings."

Hathaway could almost hear the gears grinding in Lewis's head as he worked through this information.

"Bloody hell. You're right, it was stupid of me."

"Oh, and I also had to extinguish the rumor that you knocked up the good doctor. It's been a busy morning."

"_Me?_ Bloody hell. Might be good for my reputation, but Hobson certainly doesn't need that."

"Do you want me to call you when her report is in? I could pick you up. Innocent would never know."

"Better not. I'm trying to learn my lesson and follow orders. If Innocent says I'm off duty, then I'm off duty. As you pointed out, I totally deserve this. So I can't very well ask her to change her order. Besides, I have something I need to do this afternoon. But call and let me know what the report says."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

The phone on Lewis's desk rang right around noon. Hathaway peeked at the display. It was from the morgue.

"Hello, Laura. It's Hathaway."

A pause. "Oh. I thought I was calling Lewis."

"You did. Only, he tried to out-posture Innocent this morning and got himself suspended for the rest of the day."

She huffed. "Why does he try to compete against her? It's so stupid."

"Must be a guy thing. I, too, found myself engaging in stupid competition this morning."

She pondered that a moment. "Anyway, I have your report. Do you want to wait until Lewis is back or . . ."

"I'll come over now. We need to put this case to bed." He winced. _Not the best choice of words_.

He found her in the morgue, with two covered bodies on stainless steel slabs. She showed him the bullet wounds, described the presence and absence of powder burns, and explained the bullet angles. She reviewed the other evidence as well: the presence and absence of powder residue on the victims' hands, and the particles of glass around Ferry's exit wound.

"Glass?"

"Safety glass. Automobile window glass, specifically. He had his head against a car window when he was shot. There was little blood on the ground by him out in the woods. He was killed in a car, or next to a car, and then moved to the woods."

"What about her?"

"She was shot where we found her."

She handed him another sheet of paper. "This is the DNA result on the fetus. Albert Jerrold was the father."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward silence. Hathaway blew out his cheeks. "A bit tricky, this. What we need to talk about."

She gazed out the window. "James, I'm sorry if I pushed you away last night. And I'm sorry that I didn't trust you enough to tell you as soon as I knew. I . . . wasn't sure what I intended to do about it, and I was afraid you'd try to influence me into doing something I'd regret. Something that wouldn't be my decision."

He studied the floor. "I'm not sure what I would have wanted. I guess I'm really glad I don't have to make a decision about it. No way am I ready to be a parent yet, especially not a single parent."

"I don't expect to _ever_ be a parent. I'm horrible with children."

He smiled. "I bet you'd be fantastic."

"Ugh. I can't imagine it."

She finally made eye contact. "We got a big wake-up call, didn't we? How serious it can be if we're not careful. That's partly why I think from here on I plan to not just do it for fun anymore. I mean, we can find less hazardous ways of getting physical, right? Fun without the danger?"

"I agree completely." He decided to press matters to clarify something that had been nagging him. "That's why you'd rather be with Lewis, isn't it? No risk with him, right?"

He could see his inquiry made her angry. "I wouldn't 'rather be with Lewis!' What makes you think that? Anyway, he doesn't see sex as a form of recreation, James. You know him better than that!"

He knew she was right, but he wanted just a little more reassurance. "But you sent me home and asked him to spend the night. What am I supposed to think about that?"

She frowned. "What _do_ you think, James? What do you _really_ think, if you can stop being stupidly competitive for two seconds?"

Hathaway stopped himself from saying the first thing that came to his head, took a breath, and sifted carefully through his feelings. "He's an old friend and totally nonthreatening at a time when you were feeling very vulnerable. And I was the source of the crisis in your life, so you needed me out for a while."

"That's exactly right." She relaxed, and put her arm around him. "Robbie says you have no people sense at all. That's not true. You just have to learn to stop reacting first and sorting out the personalities later."

"Do you still need me out of your life?" He wrapped both his arms around her.

They both jumped when Hathaway's mobile rang. A car had been found, abandoned and trashed, in Wytham Woods. There was blood all over the passenger seat. The car was titled to Albert Jerrold.

* * *

Hathaway sped to the woods, parked by the police cars and hiked the short way in as one of the constables directed him. SOCOs were all over the car, a green Mini. It looked as if it had been driven down the path and then off into the undergrowth as far as possible. The windows were broken and the upholstery ripped. It appeared as if someone was trying to make it seem abandoned for longer than it actually had been.

One of the forensics officers approached.

"There's blood and bits of flesh on the passenger side. Looks like someone sitting there was shot by someone in the driver's seat. But not here in the woods; there's no broken glass on the ground beneath that window. There's some evidence that a person walked from the car out to the path, possibly carrying the victim? We can't tell, the rain would have washed away any blood."

Hathaway waited around while the crew worked. The blood would have to be tested, but he figured it must be Ferry's. Without Lewis, Hathaway was the officer in charge and he tried to think of anything else they could learn from the site.

He snagged a white-coveralled man. "What about a canine unit to track the person leaving the car?"

"No, not after all the rain. Sorry, Sarge."

The forensics crew eventually finished and left with all their little bags. One of the constables approached. "The truck is coming to get the car, but it got held up a little. Should be here in a few minutes. Who do you want to stay and wait for it, Sir? It's shift change in about ten minutes."

"I'll stay. You guys get on back. Send Green and Spencer out when they come on duty." Hathaway wanted a little time alone, and the quiet woods seemed like a perfect place. If he went back to the station, Innocent would be on him immediately.

After they had all left, he hiked up to the path. Maybe he should have sent someone down the path at least a ways, something might have been dropped. Lewis was right, it was much easier to think when both their brains were present. Hathaway turned to see what the site looked like from the path. The car could not be seen at all from where he stood.

He decided the woods was empty enough that no one would bother the car if he took just a short walk. He scanned the ground for any signs, but the path was too well-traveled for footprints or other marks to show.

Hathaway walked along the path in the direction of the place where they had found the bodies. He found himself wishing Lewis was there to bounce ideas back and forth. It wasn't easy being in charge of the crime scene. Hathaway knew he shouldn't be out in the woods alone, and shouldn't have left the car unattended, but there were a few other people he passed, and it seemed safe enough. _I should probably head back to the Mini_.

But first he stood and smoked a cigarette, appreciating the quiet serenity of the place. The forest was old here, the trees tall, and there was little underbrush. It would be dark in here in summer, he thought, but now the trees were just starting to leaf out and the woods was light-filled and airy.

"Nice place, isn't it?"

Hathaway hadn't heard the man come up behind him.

"Yeah. It reminds me of a cathedral. Big columns, high ceiling, fan vaulting . . ."

"That's lovely. You study poetry, Mister . . . ?"

"Hathaway. No, not poetry. Theology."

"Ah, that explains it. Chemistry, me." He held out his hand. "Albert Jerrold."

Hathaway shook it, hoping desperately that the jolt he had just felt did not show.

"You headed this way?" Jerrold gestured in the direction Hathaway had been going.

James gave a short nod, and the two men walked side by side. Hathaway wondered why it seemed that suddenly no one else was around, now that he was walking through the woods with a multiple murderer at his side. Should he try to arrest Jerrold himself? Call for backup? Stall until they were out of the woods? He didn't really know where he was going, all he knew was that he was getting farther and farther away from his car.

"You're not still a student, Mister Hathaway?"

"No, I'm not."

"I think I'd know if you were with the University. But your name seems familiar. What do you do?"

Hathaway swallowed. Lewis might have mentioned his name when he met with Jerrold the day before. "I'm in, er . . . law."

"Law _enforcement_, don't you mean? _Sergeant_ Hathaway? I thought I saw you with those officers who found my car. Why is it you and your partner are never together? Don't you get along very well?"

"He's just a bit behind me. Ought to be here in a moment."

"You're lying, Sergeant. I saw you arrive by yourself. There were seven policemen and four SOCOs here, and ten people left. You're very much alone."

He faced Hathaway, assuming a slightly crouched pose. Hathaway recognized it from his school days. The bullies. _He's going to fight me_.

"Since you didn't identify yourself immediately when you found out who I am, I can only assume that the investigation has progressed to the point where we are adversaries. I can't let you leave here, Sergeant."

Jerrold swung his fist at Hathaway's head, but James saw it coming and dodged. James moved in to try to get a hold on him, but Jerrold was too fast, slamming his hand into James's chin, snapping his head back. Everything went fuzzy and Hathaway staggered backward. Jerrold grabbed his upper left arm and jerked him forward. Hathaway felt a searing pain as his shoulder was ripped from its socket. But Jerrold had pulled him close enough for James to get in a solid headbutt, breaking Jerrold's nose. He kicked Jerrold's legs out from under him, and Jerrold fell face-first, a bone cracking when he hit the ground. Hathaway used his good arm to pull one of Jerrold's up behind him. Then James sat on him, pinning the arm in place.

Hathaway was able to pull his phone out and hit 999, identifying his position as well as he could. After the call was made, he turned his attention to the man beneath him.

"Why did you do it? Why'd you kill them both?"

"I caught her when she was doing the pregnancy test so I knew she was banging someone else. She tried to deny it, but there it was, that little pink line. I wasn't going to raise someone else's bastard as my own child. I don't even want kids of my own. That's why I'd had that operation. Then I found this love letter from Ferry to her, stuck in his lab notebook. I knew it was him."

"You stupid sod. Ferry never sent her any love letters. The baby was _yours_. We ran the DNA. You must have had relations with her too soon after your operation, and it wasn't effective yet. You never went in for follow-up checking, did you? You killed your own baby and two innocent people for nothing."

The sirens were close now, and Hathaway sighed in relief when he saw a uniformed officer crest the hill and break into a run when he saw the two men.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

"You can still use your right arm to lift a pint, right?" Lewis had come to pick up Hathaway from the Radcliffe and was appraising the sling he now wore on his left arm.

"Absolutely. But I'm not to have alcohol until the pain medication wears off. And I can't drive. However, if you take me home, you can have a couple beers at my place and walk from there. Unless you want to stay and nurse me all night. Isn't that a service you provide?"

"I'll pass on spending the night. I haven't slept in me own bed in several days. But I'd go for the beer."

When they got in the car, Hathaway pulled out his cigarettes and lighter.

"Not in the car, Hathaway!"

"You want one?"

"I don't smoke, you know that."

Hathaway chuckled as he put his things away. "Does that mean we're through this, now?"

"Well, the case is closed, the lessons learned, and we're all friends again. What more is there?"

"What lessons are those, Sir?"

"Okay, let's review what we've learned. That's good . . . what do you call that?"

"Pedagogy."

"Funny, that's not the word that was on the tip of me tongue. Anyway, I will try to be much less reactive to Innocent, and instead of getting angry, I will get sad and pathetic. It's far more effective. Your turn."

"I will try to assess other people's emotions and think things through before reacting. You know, I think when I met Albert Jerrold, if I had acted as if I knew him, but didn't know he was a killer, I'd have gotten away with it."

"Good, that's good, Hathaway." Lewis thought a moment. "I definitely learned that I think better when you're there to . . . I dunno, whatever it is you do. Be a catalyst? Provide a trigger? Share your ideas? We both did some pretty poor thinking when we were working on our own. Which was for most of this case, isn't that weird?"

"We'd have been together for the critical part if you hadn't gotten into that pissing match with Innocent."

"Yeah, I don't know why I thought that was a good idea. Something about your attitude was making me all competitive."

Hathaway fell into a reflective mood. "I think I was envious of the freedom you have because of your . . . sterility. But my brush with fatherhood made me understand I'm not ready for anything so permanent as surgery."

"Oh, yeah? You'd like to be a parent some day?"

"Well, I'm not ready to say I wouldn't, given the right circumstances."

They arrived at Hathaway's place. After Lewis had opened a beer and they were relaxing in the front room, Hathaway picked up his mobile and punched a couple of buttons.

"Yeah, Paul, it's James. About Saturday. Um, . . . I dislocated my shoulder today and I can't play. I'm not supposed to take the sling off for ten days. Yeah, I should be able to play Didcot. But we'll have to cancel All Saints. Yeah, sorry!" He rang off.

Lewis was staring at him. "I don't get to hear you play after all?"

"Didcot's not far, you can go next weekend."

Lewis finished his beer and cracked another. "I just might, you know."

"So, I was wondering, Sir. What was it you had to do this afternoon when I was getting my arm pulled off by a chemistry don?"

Lewis contemplated whether to answer. He took another swallow of beer. "Well, all these pregnant women all the sudden, y'know? It made me nervous. So I got meself checked out again, just to be sure it couldn't be me."

"And?"

"Still clear."

Hathaway looked contemplative. "So, how does that work, exactly?"

"How does what work?"

"Well, you must have to provide a sample, right? Do you do that right there in the office?"

Lewis hesitated. "Yes."

"So how do you generate the sample, exactly?"

Lewis blushed furiously. "It's pretty much what you'd imagine, Hathaway."

"Oh, I see." Hathaway looked as if he could be picturing almost anything.

"And I must say, I find it rather disturbing to think of you, imagining me . . . doing that."

Hathaway could not resist one final tease.

"Doing what, Sir?"

* * *


End file.
